Crushed
by RaeDay
Summary: A?R. All she has ever wanted is to protect her. The world an ever changing place and Maura is barely stable on her own two feet to hold ground. No matter how much she has fallen she will never drag her down with her.
1. Chapter 1: The Libertine

** A/N: So I haven't got much of a response off the other story idea so I decided for another one. Its quite dark but definetly a Rizzles story. I don't mind if I don't get a response to it. I am going to write it anyway. This story will be written from Jane's POV. So read and enjoy people. Keep in mind it is rated T for language and drug use and adult themes. Thanks** **for reading. **

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**Chapter 1: The Libertine**

The night has a brittle cool to it, common for late November, and Docker's Geordie dialect cracks through as blunt as if the very air is shattering glass and falling around us. Thames estuary, the less than posh way of vernacular his clumsy tongue pulls from his easy thoughts as it's called. Could be cockney, could be a Dickens character, could be Oliver Twist but I know him as Docker, and I don't know him well.

"Free blucks a'ead. Bit uvah rough way going frum 'ere too. Fink you kin 'andle it?"

"Got it." I mutter and my own voice seems sharp in timbre yet dull in expression compared to Docker's exotic tone that is not natural for a Midwestern American, such as myself, to comprehend. It rolls as a mash up, thick enough to hit my ears unpleasantly. It sticks with me barely breaking my grasping senses, but spending the hours passing in his company after confirming him as a best leader adjusts my mind to latch onto the details. The details, as simple as they may be, from this man three heads taller than me and a kilo heavier, broad at the shoulder and thin at the head are what is leading me to where I need to get, go and be.

Hands, that I notice are weaved with the dark and faded script of something that had to be meaningful enough to tattoo, are now flexing the top of a sturdy fence of bent twisted wire, chain link and the only one that seems intact in the neighborhood. Not one to be described as Mister Rogers. Not by a long shot.

I am following him mindlessly. I try to reach but knowing my stature pales to his, my first attempt fails in a miserable fashion. I don't stumble or fall but I do almost automatically loosen my grip knowing it wasn't going to work.

"Fought you said you could 'andle it," not a questioning way of saying it and for a moment I think if he is being generally inquisitive, doubtful, or just a stupid ass…

_'Arse'_ as he would say. When I notice the smile pulling the grim aging lines of his face and the missing front row of teeth when his thick mouth stretches, I know it's the latter.

"Fuck you." It's rare that I am not pissed off lately, as I attempt another grab from a lower angle of the fence, mostly because of the chases in early morning I have to endure on the daily the past few months. Exhaustion makes even saints weaken. As I am up, over and down next to Docker the shock of the sturdy ground at my soles snaps my senses to knowing that I am exhausted. Hits like a wave up my calves, knees, back and shoulders and I roll those forward and crane my neck down in a defeated stretch. No pause, Docker's heavy footfall from '70s punk fashion doc martens walks left and I follow behind in step without thinking of my actions but more of the reason behind them. Docker expressing some of it as we weave the broken glass and dumpster trash of a long claustrophobic alley cloistered by stacks of brick to right and polar.

"Dunna why you 'ave to meet with Kirst. She innit the type to be accommodating at'is hour. She be down in it by now."

And I assume she would be after her shows. I have a light grasp of the time about now based on when I left home. Six hours passing I bet, and five of it has been without my counterpart. It used to be a worrisome to me nights like this but any trained behavior your body just bypasses what your brain is telling you. I don't even feel it anymore.

That pull at your chest.

Sweaty palms that shake to your fingertips.

Dizzying worry in your brain that takes over all higher cognitive reasoning that isn't there because I am thinking about where I am as Docker keeps talking his voice taking on a soothing white noise of sorts. "If she be un-hospital" inhospitable I assume he means, "then the blames falls on you mate. She can be a scrappah"

I realize it's a shabby apartment complex we are navigating and most of the windows are dim and not paned with the constraints of glass. No wonder I have to dodge in under foot currently as my eyes are cast down trying not to focus on a broken syringe that could've easily sunk through my Vans.

"You do know wot 'ese are right?" there is an exaggeration of right that I can't even place how to write phonetically. I say nothing still not really hearing him but he presses on, "Dunna' know who wears fees n'more, but I do." He motions down to his feet when I see his tattooed hand reach my eye line. Only then do I realize what he is talking about. My eyes were down cast since over the fence and he thought I was admiring his…

"Doc Martens, I know." As I lift my head and look forward setting my jaw.

"Right v'ere mate. Good on ya." He gives a bite of a short laugh that seems prideful. "Good fer docking trash." His nonexistent teeth punctuating the last of his words and he seems to be waiting for me to speak again. Or ask a question or to give a damn.

I don't.

"Docking is wot I 'ave always been good at'chu know? 'Ats why me mates call me Dockah."

_Docker _he means but his postmodern Mancuian speech is a rape and murder of the English language. His psycho babble of the history of his nickname, which seems to be an obvious attempt at intimidation toward me, has been making me think less of our current mission but more of his trivial facts that make him a person. Through all this I have been trying to place his origin and if he is a friend of Kirsty then it must be Manchester native.

"So you have a penchant for beating people and kicking with said boots and that's why you are Docker" I say still keeping my eyes set forward but relaxing my jaw into more of a condescending grin. I don't think he realizes I am not afraid of him but I am not afraid of anything it seems anymore. Guess I would have to actually feel something for that to happen.

"A pen'wot?" He looks at me stupidly but I don't dignify him with showing my exasperation. I can't really be that much of a right bastard toward him for not knowing a word that isn't any everyday thing used in the language at large and is decidedly French. And now knowing and placing him as a consort of Kirsty's from Cheetham Hill as she describes as the dodgy inner city part on Manchester. I don't know either way if it is as rough as she claims it but seeing Docker makes me believe it a bit more.

"Just means you are good at it boss." I say encouragingly just to smooth the awkwardness to keep him leading me on and not feeling tempted to docking _my_ head.

"We're 'ere" He says almost in a whisper almost terrified until he clears his throat and gives a shout. "Kirsty!"

No response.

He looks over at me pleadingly and my face is still blank but I allow my jaw to clench more in agitation. The only telling sign that he should call again.

"Kirsty…" The sound of his voice sounds misplaced. The obtuse way to it has broken an edge. It sounds like he might cry and makes me stiffen my back vertebrae by vertebrae in to a creeping feeling. Not so much a man bald by choice and the hard lines of a hard life etching his face and self-proclaimed to be good at 'docking' people now with a shaky timbre in his voice is what is making me uneasy. More so the fact that he seems like he cares. He cares enough to drag a near stranger to him along for the trip knowing he couldn't shake me and to be standing stark in the street at three in the morning tracking down someone who may be dead or worse alive…

"Fuck all." He mutters. He casts his eyes down and lifting his knee full force brings his Doc Marten down on an empty whiskey bottle. My eyes not quick enough to notice if it is a favorite brand of some girls I know before I hear it shatter.

"Oi! Fuck off with that." I recognize the voice belonging to Kirsty her accent similar to her enraged frightening friend, to the right people that is, but not as thick weighted to the point of misunderstanding but just as deep. This is the impossible bitch that I have been searching for nearly two hours ago to start. She shifted the dingy white bed sheet that covers her busted window to the side of the second story window and peers out. A bit bleary-eyed making me more impatient thinking this is becoming a rapidly impossible task.

My jaw clenches again "Is Maur up there?" I spit out before I can stop myself. Showing that pissed off attitude I haven't been controlling recently is not the best way to get my way up there. If Docker has to yell to gain entry then my chances may be no better. Kirsty doesn't even notice though.

"Cat? Who has a cat? Wouldn't keep it alive if I did." Her laugh carries out like a cackle obviously amused and obviously stoned, drunk or a nice mix of the both because there is no way she could mistake what I jsut said. She is still there enough to be fucking with me though "Are you looking for something of the like? Some birds perhaps? Got those as usual," She laughs again. I know enough slang to understanding where this is going and the point is driven home as I see a girl run out sans shirt with her face tear streaked. "There goes one now! Hey you left your shite up here!"

"Kit keep your mouth shut from all the yelling!" Docker says being just as loud if not more. "Pigs will be about any minute"

At the top of her impressively strong lungs she yells out into the night and it seems to carry for miles in the dim cold "Fuck them!" She grins lighting a cigarette. "Docker? You got anymore fags on your person? I know how much you like to suck on them."

"You've been in the states too long. Twisting things all the time." He grumbles and with each word he is becoming more and more insular as he rummages in the inner pockets of his leather jacket. In a brief moment he pulls out a crumpled soft pack of menthols holds them high above his head as if the higher he stretches then the better she is able to make out what they are.

She tells us to come on up as she takes a long drag flicking the still lit cigarette in a slow arch that lands directly at my feet. I feel a tingle of hot ash singe my chest. I don't bother to brush it as I am already approaching the stoop. She withdraws her head back behind the curtain in one fluid movement as Docker stands stamping out her cigarette looking dejected.

A mountain of garbage bags has accumulated near the stairs, and the rest of the floor is littered with discarded objects: amplifier cables, an empty guitar case, loose coins, a box of empty condoms, a box spring for a twin size bed that looks as if it had just been tossed down tonight in nothing less than a rage, a torn copy of Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra.

It is a long stairwell if narrow which is misleading if looking from the outside in. The building cannot be more than four stories tall if that. Kirsty's place is the second floor and off this stairwell is one door each that leads to each one and each one is labeled in the unsteady scrawl of tweakers that is nothing but bright hues of spray paint.

First floor is 'Day Hookers'

Second floor is 'Legend'

I crane my neck and can make out the other two doors up the stairs when standing on the landing 'The Dead' and 'Squatters' are the third and fourth respectively. Each floor its own color but all in the same hand. I wonder which night and which person did this but as I look at the 'Legend' title above the door where we are entering I think it is Kirsty only. The fact that another untidy script this time in marker thick black and permanent in the hall immediately past the threshold that says:

"All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

As I look around at the rest of the mess that can be called as some sort of skewed haven for lost souls, I know that Kirsty owns the entire floor. It is filled with pieces of broken furniture, discarded food items, paraphernalia for getting the high, cigarette butts, askew posters that have been promotional for several of her shows that I recognize and the bodies of people. It doesn't matter if they are breathing. The lot of them looks dead.

She lets anyone crash out here as long as there are people around. Kirsty spends her time here too as more and more I see the heavy hand of ink many song lyrics and broken bits of poetry lining the walls. Docker is leading me down toward the very end where I can distinguish droning, atonal music seeping from beneath a closed door.

I see, hear, and taste the very room as the familiar scent of a cook is going down. Kirsty is sitting on the mattress possibly belonging to the box spring that is discarded down the steps. There are no sheets on it. The room in the day could be an open welcoming space but in a late autumn night with no block from the temperature and the only light is dim, with an orange glow, like a muted campfire. The lamp is perched atop a dresser right by the head of the mattress and Kirsty is at the low end sitting cross legged completely enthralled with her company that she doesn't even regard Docker or me as we enter the room.

She speaks "I'm just trying to achieve the greatest honor in my life." She drops the small bags contents into the bent spoon. She smoothes it with the end of her lighter looking down only brief enough to see the crystalline substance spread covering the silver plated glint of its new vessel. "The perfect end."

I look to wear Kirsty's bright blue eyes wide and feral are trained to. It is a girl no doubt with the soft curves of a woman but I know her well and I know her to be no older than 18.

Maura

"The perfect end?" She has asked in more of an interested way than she intended I know, but with the way Kirsty's bright eyes widened I knew that it was something she would have to hear without really wanting.

"Join the twenty-seven club you know? Have all the little pretties wanting me back and praying for my death to be some dream." Kirsty explains wistfully. Almost as if she can see the groups gathering around her sick empty frame that used to house an artist with a drug problem, or as I better think of her a drug addict with artistic skill. "I want them to bury me twelve feet deep. Don't want those pretties to dive in me grave for a trophy when I finally go under."

Maur has a perfect row of white teeth spread out in a smile just the hint of the rest of her unspoiled yet "The problem with that dear Kirsty is that you might have to be famous in order for that to pan out the way you want."

"Famous enough." She said as she crushed the crystal into the spoon all the while her fag dangling from her pouted lips.

Maur sat back locked stiff and uncomfortable I can imagine on the rough dirty busted mattress. As Kirsty starts lighting and melting the crystals to liquid everyone in the room falls quiet and still the thrum of bass from the music I recognize as a Flutes' song is the soundtrack to this ungodly scene. I am praying that I stop watching the well practiced actions that I know so well. I prayed to forget the ache in my arm at the thought and the aftermath that would send you flying. I prayed the stain next to me where I am standing was dried blood or better as I pull my eyes away just in time to see the money shot. The prep and plunge of the syringe. As I watch Kirsty drain the thin liquid in a rush filling the syringe right quick. Three taps of her long skeletal nails…

Tap

Tap

Tap

And pressed the plunger pressing any air she could as if an air bubble in your vein would be half as bad as that junk pumping through. I guess it was that fine line she was always drawing on. It was not set in stone that this speedball would be the last to ramp her heart to an ending point, but that little pocket of air that would sneak in would more than likely be her end if she did not do the prep.

"So I never asked how old are you anyway?" Maura's head is rolled to the side seemingly cool and patient but anything but as her legs shake slight and agitated waiting. She asks the question I think to distract herself and not Kirsty as the needle goes into the ripe vein in her arm.

Kirsty's eyes roll back and lids flutter shut over them and leans back pulling the needle out and answers in a husky voice of someone on the brink of ecstasy. "Twenty-four."

"You definitely don't procrastinate."

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**So what do you think? Something to continue? I apologize if I have offended anyone from manchester or if I got any part of that wrong especially with the accents. I just wanted to show how in human Jane is in the wake of the night. I am continuing regardless. This story will be rated T for the aforementioned reasons and then go to M**


	2. Chapter 2: Follow The Leader

I** would like to thank all the people that commented and are now following this story. Scarletsounds :) even though your whole review didnt make it in i appreciate the PM and words of encouragment and We Love Us just give it a chance and i promise you wont be disappointed. the first chapter was a real rough draft so hopefully i get it more in control throughout. Cagney thanks for following. It means a lot that you are giving it a chance. the first chapter was just a mood setting thing and now on to more of an interction between our two main ladies :) A bit of back story wil come up and some rizzles action.**

**Chapter 2: Follow The Leader**

_'You certainly don't procrastinate...'_

Agreeable comment that Maura utters that follows Kirsty and I two fold. Not the one to wait around after finding myself very much alone knowing that Maura had ducked out earlier, to be here and now in this den, when we were at Simon's I had followed in a sick form of protection. It was at the beginning of the live shows and the beginning of a weirdly long arduous night.

Six hours ago there was a swagger to my step as the single glass door swung open with a rough groan against the old hinge and jamb connection. From the outside you could only tell the dim red light highlighting the shadows of the bodies undistinguishable and every soul in here wanted it that way. This place was every sort of shady and every sort of dreg would be breathing in the excited anticiaption of the perfect score. Knowing my instincts were still keen I knew the type of dive bar this was meant to be and knew earlier that Maura would be here.

I saw her across the way. A small distance it was perhaps but made greater with the pack of bodies that lumbered oddly to the sway of the undertones of thrumming bass. Not anything well known but underground collection of a band with no standing in the mainstream charts. No way I knew it so it isn't worth mentioning. My sight was more focused on Maura at that point in time and that is more important and perhaps more detail could be placed to the memory if I try or care. Such as the detail of the far end where she resides could be mentioned a short stage befitting the guests of honor 'The Flutes'. The detail of the bar tender that asks me what I will have could be mentoined. Older and scraggly wearing a baseball cap, hook nose and jack o'lantern smile. I wave him off concentrating trying to keep inconspicuous as my trained eyes focus. The detail of her stature not demure or waif but proper and with a sense of entitlement. Straight back, shoulders back with confidence that is only punctuated by her smile of perfectly straight teeth. The detail of her hands can be mentioned that I have seen perform actions of gentle comfort. The detail of her legs, long and smooth, toned that lead to a full hip where mine was narrow. The curve of her back into her long neck. Soft face framed with reddish blonde hair. The detail of her clothes could be mentioned but all I see is her corset. It makes her breasts more pronounced. Makes her more sexually appealing, and her personality could be mentioned with knowing that is exactly what she wants.

The corset she wears with lace accoutrement makes her femme fatale. She uses it as a tool to get what she wants from people. Maura Isles was not dim but very intellgent. Possibly the brightest woman, no... person I have ever met.

_"Anthropologically speaking, women with certain attributes are much more likely to attract male attention. Such as breast size, hips and of course their mouths. Women with wider hips small waists and large breasts are attractive because it means we can bare and care for any children we produce making it a safe bet for the the joining of gentic makeup."_

_"I am screwed then." I say with a false grimace only half joking._

_"No, Jane also it is the face. Such as the lips I mentioned." It was then she had reached forward and grazed her fingertips across my aforementioned lips causing my breath to hitch. "You have perfect lips." she breathed against them, her eyes set, lids hooded. Her voice dripped with pure sex. "Your mouth twice as wide as its height. Perfect." There was a pause as she looked up and leaned back. Both her hands moved to cup my face. I felt the feather light touch as the ghosted across my cheekbones to meet at the tip of my chin. "Your face falls into the higher end of the one to ten scale of what's called the golden ratio."_

_"What is that?" I asked not realizing I was moving forward as her body pressed back. Drawn like a magnet. Polar opposites attract. She is the north to my south._

_"It is the equation that determines beauty."_

_Yin to my yang._

_"And me?" I asked feeling very unsure if she was just humoring me._

_With that wide grin that was so rare she said "Lets just say you are gorgeous."_

_Light and dark. Black and white. Life and death._

That was the memory I most treasure as I am looking at her attire now. The corset. Her weapon, her armor is that elegant bodice that accentuated her gorgeous form that cut electric in the dim haze. I cut me deep but more with a feeling of righteous jealousy as she laughs and hangs off an imposing figure with the most accurate description at first sight:

Big man

Broad shouldered

Deep set eyes near black

Hair shaved to the quick

Permanant frown

Long nose that looks as if it has been broken three times over cutting it into odd angles

Thin face that looks scarred

Left over talents from being a detective, although for not that long it seems, that made my mind force the details to register. I did not know who he was till later. This was the man you would act as my shepard. This was Docker, and Maura was hanging on his arm petting it gently with a smile. There is laughing eminating but it isn't real. Its not the laugh I knew but it doesn't lessen my envy.

I know my stature is thin and lank so I have no problem with slipping between the throng of people who do not notice my rough pass and push through them. Or maybe they don't care to notice because my brows are pinched down angrily. I make quick work to close the distance and without being too forceful to cause alarm, but still to convey my annoyance, I grab Maura's upper arm. With a strength that surprises me, I pull her away.

Docker stands at attention.

We ignore him.

"What are you doing?" Maura's eyes are wide with surprise and maybe a hint of humor that plays in them.

"Looking for you. Can you please try and not do this tonight?"

Maura still is playing coy. "What am I doing Jane?" she asks me sweetly pulling her arm from my grasp and then linking in the crook of my elbow.

I grunt in response, "You know what you are doing. If I am supposed to look after you, you make my job incredibly difficult. _Purposely_" I added through clenched teeth.

"Dear Jane." She laughs derisively, "All you have to do is help me out of trouble."

"I am supposed to keep you from getting in trouble." She looks at me intently and it is hard to read her expression. Is it thoughtful? "Can you just answer me what you were doing?"

"I was laughing at what that rather interesting fellow had to say." She answers pointing in the direction of the man I did not yet know.

"And why are you around him?"

Maura had a set code of ethics and did not like to lie if she could help it. Being in the upper echelon of society, having means to get what she wanted she really never saw the need to lie to feed her habit.

"He can get me drugs." She said pointedly as if this wasn't glaringly obvious and I am still shocked that she could ever show tact. Always blunt. Always direct.

"Geez Maura." I say pushing her away from a group of people next to us that are now interested in what we are talking about.

"What Jane?"

So now hours later I am standing in the freezing apartment of a drug den trying to coax my charge away from the wasted lead singer of 'The Flutes". A notorious woman that lives the code of the libertine lifestyle. It's all about you. Your pleasure. No morals. This is why Maura drew me so deep. I never understood why she wanted to be this way and I was feeding my own need, an addiction to her, to know why Maura Isles was like this.

The damning way to what I am. So focused from the dark and dank of the room I focus on anything besides what is unfolding as Kirsty sinks the needle into giving flesh. I reserve myself to see the slight crack or notch in wood. The depth and age of the color in crown moulding, baseboards, shoe moulding. Chipping and pull from the plaster the hazy yellow hue of the paint. Dull and as flat as the shadow cast sending odd images onto the wall distorted by the unevenness of its finish. Normally, so withdrawn in my psyche, that I notice the mundane details.. but when Maura is around all I see is her and I know for long I cannot keep my attention away no matter how hard I am fighting it now.

I chance to look her way. Her lips part as she places a cigarette between them. Rose in color a shock against the pallor of her skin that is described near life like. It is a porcelain veneer. Seems so fragile but so hard to crack past and for a year since first seeing her, I have been trying. Since first my eyes met her in an interrigation room right around my fall from grace.

I break my eyeline from her and chance a look at Docker. He is enthralled with Kirsty. Every move of her long awkward limbs. I notice now his look is reflective on my own, and I start to think how far do those emotions stretch..

"Jane..." I am knocked from my reverie as I hear the dulcet cadence of her voice. My head shifts left again as my eyes focus. I was wrapped up in memory and have trained my body to cast my eyes downward so no one would ever meet my gaze. Cold.

Frightening.

Inhuman.

I smile now at the thought as I brush the long lank of my hair from my face. There is a beat that counts the rythym of the moments that I wait to hear her again. Anxiety growing. There is nothing but the loaded silence and it is then I decide to look at Maura again. When I tilt my head up the smile fades from my face. "Are you following me again?" She says with a smile. A smile that makes her seem so much out of place. It radiates and it is full of a true inquistive joy that is much unlike the death stupor of our companions of the hour. Junked out to the brink and incoherant. Maura is vibrant and alive. Awake. It breaks my heart a little more.

I can only nod in response keeping myself in firm repose with my face set hard against her contrasting mirth at the question 'Are you following me?'. She only shakes her fine head. Locks of reddish strands slip around her shoulders and I can remember how silken they are to the touch, and that sensation has been few and far between in practice. I long to feel it again. Unconsciouly, I take a steady step forward. My need for her betraying me.

"Kit." Maura stands swiftly looking down at the now head rushed singer. "I have to go. My mom is here." And that last addage Maura gives a devilish sneer as she motions to me. My jaw sets even tighter, perhaps with embarrasment, but no doubt anger. So tight my jaw flexes that I can feel my teeth on the verge of splintering.

I feel all their eyes trail to me making the feeling blaze and my face rushing a deep shade of red. Docker's deep set now from across the room where he is perched protectively next to Kirsty, and Kirsty's now looking dead behind half lids as she also smiles gravely at me. Maura... she looks at me again only it seems to me her smile softens into something more of respectful. Perhaps wishful thinking on my part. Perhaps I am just hypnotized by those green eyes. Full of life that I want to protect.

"Why do you have to call me that?" My voice is rough and harsh and I have always hated it. My face, I can tell you, everytime I speak as a reflex action contorts to a mask of loathing. Self hater is my perfect description.

"Because you tend to be a bit over protective." Maura answers simply. Its amazing how her simple thoughts she bluntly expresses hurt me the worst. She turns away from me and crouches down to the bare mattress that cradles the sprawled form of Kirsty who has fallen back in a fit of giggles. I cannot give benefit of a doubt that she is laughing out of amusement of the condescension Maura directs toward me or if she is just high as fuck.

"Kit I know you arent fully here but I am leaving." I scoff internally and fold my arms in front of my chest at the tone Maura gives her. It sounds caring and soft.

The Mancunian is hitting her peak I can tell and perhaps it isnt her just being amused by us but by herself and whatever odd thoughts are entering her mind. "Aw." She responds with a frown as she grabs Maura's flawless face cradling as gently as her shaking large hands will allow. Kirsty, Kirst, Kit is genuinely saddened by her departure it seems and I cannot blame her. "My Kitty Cat leaving so soon?" The comment from earlier makes the vaguest sense now. Apparantly Maura has become her pet of sorts. It sickens me as Kirsty leans forward planting a chaste kiss on Maura's rose colored lips. I feel sick as she pulls away and I notice the goofy smile and lame eyes as if she just received the best kiss ever. My insides are boiling over.

"Kit" Kirsty says laughing pointing at herself and then sharply turns her finger to Maura saying, "Cat" and then falls back right into Docker's lap laughing. "Ain't we a pair Dock?" She says reaching up and stroking her friend's face. Docker merely nods and Maura straightens up with a grin enjoying Kirsty's antics.

I was not.

"Can we go now Maura?" I say stiffly already turning and reaching for the door that leads to the hall. I slam it shut behind me and hear through the wood the muffled voices now coming from within. I close my eyes not caring to distinguish who is talking. I lean against the door just wishing Maura would follow, not far behind.


	3. Chapter 3: The Departed

**Chapter 3: The Departed Part One: Blue Blooded**

Two Years Ago... That is where the story actually begins for me. I was a fresh green blood just out of the academy and had been with the Boston Police Department as nothing more than a foot soldier for seven months. My birthday fell on the tail end of the year, and so throughout much of my life I was always the youngest to achieve. It was my dream for the longest time to be a detective and that is why I joined the police force. Two years ago I was twenty one. Still a child in some ways. Naive to fault my ambition. I was incredibly ambitious, but I do not think I was fully ready for the task that was to be my life from that fateful day I tried to grasp for the proverbial golden ring.

"Rizzoli!" The order came barked out from a thin short little man who did not particularly seem intimidating but still I had snapped out of the plastic chair as if he was an army general in the heat of combat. It was a reflex still hanging over me from my cadet life. Something I did not think at that point I would ever lose. It made me orderly and focused. Respectful.

"Sir." I had responded with my shoulders back and squared. My face read no emotion, and I could sense this man's humor at my behavior.

He had mumured, "Fucking newbies." As he turned on his heel and motioned me to follow. I fell easily in step behind him despite his headstart and quick pace. My body was lean but still defined. My benefit from so much hard work to craft myself into tip top shape. I did not lack femininity even though I tried to hide it. My hair was always tied back. My gait had a swagger to it and I was always straight backed and my eyes bore forward, without distraction, to whereever I was headed. And so exactly that is how I was at that moment. My cap tucked under my arm. Free arm swung by my hip where my issued revolver was slung and I was grateful for its presence. It gave me a feeling of security although in my head I hardly felt I needed it. I knew I was well trained to fight without being armed.

A few eyes traveled to our passing forms as we navigated the bustle of the homicide's department bullpen. It was mainly male dominated which is why I hid my womanly curves. It did not prevent the older guys checking me out. I was not exactly flattered. Not only because they were not attractive but because I never really had the urge to date. I did not dislike it actually. There was an excitement knowing I was attractive to some standards and had a certain sensibility when it came to the opposite sex but I never felt anything beyond the first rush. Never felt anything deep which is why when I joined the police force I had declined any advances made toward me.

I did not chance to look at anyone's faces just then and even as I recall it in my head it all came back as an odd mash of vacant eyes and mouths. Save one a female detective that gazed at me for a moment longer than appropiate. I felt a rush then but only because she was beautiful. Dark hair, thin but curvy and lovely darker skin. I quickly snapped from that look but it still to this day was burned in my memory. Besides that really wasn't the most important thing regarding my recall of this day.

I remember the scent of stale coffee and toner. The stagnancy of an office setting that settled to cheap carpet and deodorant. The chatter and noise didnt really register as our swift pace moved in and out of the people wandering about to where I knew my old family friend Korsak's office was. The confidence I exude outwardly was hiding the nervousness within. I had been summoned by the Captain of Homicide, Narcotics and the Chief of Police Cavanaugh.

Nervous perhaps was not the proper discription. I was a mess of fear.

"Inside." The short officer whose badge I noticed to say Danby had said as we reached the far end of the room. He opened the door and I swallowed audibly and breathed out slow and heavy trying to control my nerves. Danby actually smiled when he saw the crack in the veneer of my calm. "You Know," he said stopping me from entering with his hand on my shoulder "Only those who are guilty need to be afraid of us." With that he patted my shoulder with a chuckle and strode past at his surprisingly fast pace. I watched him walk off and not realized I was standing in front of my superiors until I heard a familiar voice shake me back.

It was Captian Detective Vince Korsak, "Please come in Jane." I looked into the room as I took a slow step in. Korsak was sitting at his desk. The Captain of Narcotics Freshour was standing near the window next to a man slouched in an arm chair I had never seen before and behind Korsak was Chief Cavanaugh. I snapped the door shut behind me and quickly stood at attention in front of the men.

"Relax Rizzoli. You look like you are standing in front of a firing squad. Take a seat." I chanced a small smile at the Chief's attempt of relaxing the tension as I started to move. My limbs still were stiff and robotic in motion as I grabbed the empty chair in front of the Captian's desk. I sat and waited looking at each man in turn feeling like the time was stretching into an infinite unfathomable warp. I was hardly containing my excitement and it took all I could to not to let my nervous twitch of my leg shaking happen. Cavanaugh spoke again as he opened a file clearing his throat, "You are an impressive find officer," He began and without break, without me commenting he continued, "You were the top of your class. Tested spectacularly. Fitness assessments were immaculate." I chanced a small thank you as he continued. "And you have been a vice officer for..." He flipped a page and quickly scanned, "Seven months."

All eyes looked at me and I slowly nodded. The slouched man in the chair was the only one not paying attention to me and I actually appreciated that. His eyes were fixed to a spot in the floor and if it were possible it looked as if a hole would be bored and swallow him up. Maybe that was his wish.

"And recently your heroics have rescued two of your fellow officers. Actions like that would be awarded a medal of valor." He looked up at me closing what I knew now to be my file and smiled.

My excitement over took me at that point with the mention of such a high honor. "Are you saying you are giving me an award?"

Freshour and the Chief exchanged looks and Korsak looked at me with a grimace with which I could not place the context. "No Rizzoli we are not." It was Freshour this time speaking as he walked over and handed me a file of his own. "We are giving you an opportunity." I opened the file and was greeted with the mug shot of the most infamous man of the east coast.

Paddy Doyle

"I dont understand, sir." I said addressing no one man in particular but the room at large as my confused gaze met with each of theirs.

Cavanaugh cleared his throat, "As you know Rizzoli The Boston PD has recently been subject to a massive scandal involving Joseph Grant. In fact there isn't a person in Boston that didn't know about the corruption involving him. We need to act. We need a bust that will hopefully clear us from the damage he caused. Thats why we want to bring down the Doyle organization."

I was taken aback. I flipped through the file distractedly. "You want to bring down Paddy Doyle?" It was a disbelieving question. A nod was what I got in response. "You want to bring him down to save the reputation of the BPD." That wasn't a question I shook my head staring at Doyle forever frozen in black and white. "What about all the people he has killed sir? All the crimes he has commited and will commit. That should be the reason to bring him down." I knew then it was hot headed and defiant to speak in such a way to my superior and honestly it was a dumb thing to do but the reaction I got was not what I expected.

Cavanaugh laughed.

"You were absolutely right Korsak," he said addressing my mentor. "She has a good heart and stubborn."

I didnt appreciate being talked about as if I was not there and stood once again at attention, "Sir, I do not understand the meaning of this. Why bring me here to your office only to beat around the bush? What does any of this have to do with me? I am not being commended for my bravery but actually being talked down to... Sir..." I added the last bit with regret of speaking so abruptly and to my commanding officers as well. The nervousness overtook me again replacing my indignation that flared only a moment ago.

"She needs to watch her mouth if you want her to do this." It was finally the slouched man that had broke his silence. He looked at me still sitting in his relaxed position and noticed how exhausted he looked. He was a young man but not as young as me, african-american and looked from his state of dress that he was more of a perp than part of the police. "What we want you to do," he continued "Is to go undercover with me."

"And who are you exactly?" I said without disrespect but with genuine curiosity.

Korsak stood and so did the undercover cop. Korsak formally introduced us as I shook the stranger's hand, "Jane this is Detective Barry Frost. Your new partner."


	4. Chapter 3: The Departed Part 2

A/N: Just want to say hello to my new follower. If anyone would like to comment on my story or give a suggestion then please leave it in the comments. A brief summary so far. Jane is searching for Maura who is hanging out with a drug addicted singer. The reason why Maura is hasnt been revealed. Maura seems to treat Jane a bit coldly but there is a mutual attraction between them. Last chapter Jane had a flashback as to how she started hanging around there people. Apparantly she was tapped to go undercover to bring down Paddy Doyle as we all know is Maura's father. All good? I decided to break up chapter 3 because it is rather long but it all relates to each other and it is mostly just exposition.

**Chapter 3: The Departed Part 2: Take It or Leave It**

Barry Frost... My partner...

The first time meeting the young man and he looks as if death was warming him over. Like it was right behind him gripping his arm as he took my hand in his. He met my eyes on the level making us of equal height but being a man I would think he would outweigh me and put my lithe form to shame. His body was hidden under a leather jacket that now as he stood made him look like a child wearing his father's clothing. My vision reasoned me into astonishment as I noticed his hands were little more than bones. There were evident sparse gray hairs. He looked wasted away like trouble was always weighing him down and even his shoulders sloped and his head crooked downward as Frost regarded me with his weary eyes. Gripping my hand with a weighted look that seemed to stir my uneasy feelings again I knew I shouldn't be here. Panic was unsettling me.

"You have shown us outstanding courage Jane Rizzoli. And you are intelligent and able to think on your feet. That is exactly what we need." Cavanaugh was still talking. "We kept everything quiet about your identity from the papers as you have noticed. Your partner Bask of course had received a commendation for his part in the drug house bust." Frost had let go of my hand shuffling back to collapse in his seat again as if I didnt exist anymore even though his affect still lingered. He didn't notice it in my eyes. Like it did not exist. He did nothing and everything was withering away as soon as Frost let go. The room didnt remain for him. His superiors didnt. He collapsed into his seat but also into hisself. I kept watching him knowing exactly what nerves can do to someone. I recognized the fear. It was weighted on him from whatever assignment that this was. This death mission. This way of life that was taking his own. He infected me just then with his worry and fear. It was as if he was trying to unconsciously warn me in a way just by the mere frightening presence of him. No one else saw this passage between us and the Chief continued unabated, "As for you Rizzoli we are offering the career making chance of a lifetime. You go undercover and work getting information that can help bringing down the most notorious crimianl Boston has ever seen."

I finally looked at the Chief. A bit astonished. They wanted me on this. Who the hell was I? Is what I really wanted to say.

Cavanaugh shook his head. "Not everyone was entirely in agreement on this matter. But don't worry Rizzoli it isn't like you will be working by yourself. Frost here has been on the case for almost a year now. He is already in the organization to an extent. Our problem is we cant seem to move him up the ranks due to physical limits."

At that Frost scoffed, "Physical in a way that Doyle is a fucking racist. Me being a momma's boy, as Paddy's boys put it, and my momma being a dy-"

"Frost!"Korsak warned making the young detective fall silent. "I know you have been through a hell of a time recently but keep in mind who is in your presence." I felt a bit of pride seeing as how Korsak stood up for me just then, but still knew it wasn't appreciated on some level. My gut felt ready to drop realizing that the real reason behind me getting chosen for such a huge operation could have been all of Korsak's influence.

I felt sick.

I had to leave. I had to turn this down. "What makes you think I am going to be any better at getting ahead in the organization being a woman?"

"Jane we need you on this." The Chief pleaded. "Doyle is a family man first and foremost and we have found a way to get to him."

I was lead out of the office to the back half of homicide's floor where the interrigation rooms were and Frost fell in step behind the rest of us. Moving slow and deliberate as I guessed he was prone to do. Not too concerned with keeping up anymore. I chanced to look back at him and he carried himself as I did. Straight back eyes focused ahead. Although Frost was different because he didn't notice anything as if locked in his own mind and I was open to the world seeing it all. Being open to all experiences in my life which have contributed to me being as mature as I was have made me also susceptible to all danger concerning the unexpected because I was not protecting myself at that moment.

"Paddy Doyle's daughter, Maura." Korsak said motioning to the interrigation room all white gray and lone except a table and chair occupied by the very woman with which he referred.

This was the moment I was hooked. Like drugs can ensnare the mind so easily and love the heart, I was ensnared when I was ushered in to the holding room and brought to a two way mirror. From the outside looking in at a lone figure. Young, her eyes vibrant, and I knew she could not see me as she looked up from her vision being downcast. Holding her arms crossed as if protecting herself unlike me so open... I know now I was the one that needed protection.

From first sight Maura, I was certain, would be my downfall.


End file.
